


Come Home; Unfold

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Series: Come Home; Unfold [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Lucifer, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 09, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is on his own for a while helping angels. No Dean. No Zeke. And Delaware is rattling as another of the fallen circles for a vessel.</p><p>Takes place sometime down the road in Season 09. For Samifer Week 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home; Unfold

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission for [Samifer Week 2013](http://fuckyeahlucifersupernatural.tumblr.com/tagged/Samifer-Week-2013). [Prompted by queerlyobscure](http://apocalypse-patisserie.tumblr.com/post/64502923484/queerlyobscure-answered-to-your-post-anyone-else).
> 
> I do not own the rights to these characters, setting, show, etc. No harm is intended.

Dean's text reads,  
 **Communication Breakdown**.  
Which Sam thinks is too funny.

 **is that commentary or...?**  
He hits 'send.'

Sam follows another bite of breakfast with some coffee and decides to actually answer the question.

**first time behind the wheel without dad in the car.**

He sends this text, too.

It's a pop quiz. He gets them three, maybe five times per day. Dean knows he won't answer the phone by now, but he's got to make sure Sam's alive and he's got to make sure that the Sam using his phone is the _real_ Sam.

He's not angry at Dean. Not at all, not really. So he responds to the texts. Usually a song, a line from a song, a line from Dad's journal, maybe a location. And Sam replies with the correct association. Zep's Communication Breakdown was the first song that Dean played in the car the very first time Dad let him drive without supervision. Sam had watched him drive off into the night, windows down, howling, aiming for some girl's house to go break the fuck out of her curfew.

Dean.

He can live without seeing Dean every day. It's a relief. It needs to happen every now and again.

It wasn't their typical blow-up when Dean finally told him the truth about Ezekiel. And Dean took that harder than he would have taken a knock-down, drag-out fight. Sam could feel the complete lack of surprise fall down on his own features and he only shook his head at Dean. He had his suspicions for weeks by that point. This confirmation of Dean's-- shit. It wasn't even _betrayal_. Just more of Dean's desperation.

It just didn't surprise him.

"I'm not angry," he'd said, like someone's fucking parent, "just disappointed."

Ezekiel had a hard time containing himself in the presence of his brother. Ever since Cas had joined up with them, Ezekiel must have been burning at Sam's edges. That's when the suspicion first arose.

When it finally came to light, Sam sat quiet in his room, retreated into himself, and met Ezekiel for the first time.

He also asked him to leave.

For his part, the angel had been fully healed. Sam had Zeke to thank for making him feel so much better, too. And he did thank him. Then he packed a few bags and left.

Just needed a week to himself. Maybe two.

And _really_ to himself. All to himself. Without the unknown violation.

He carried hex bags. One in a jacket pocket, one in each bag, always kept two in the cars he stole along the way. He intended to avoid demons. Instead, he would help out where he could. He didn't owe them anything, but not all angels were dicks, as evidenced by Zeke. Some of them had always backed Cas, had always been on their side.

Mainly he headed for new hotspots of supposed quake activity. As Dean had told him, everything rattles when an angel is around, looking for a vessel. And in Delaware, there was a shaking so violent that the USGS had followed it in from the Atlantic for days now. You could see every "earthquake" on their website. The east coast was racked with them.

When he'd pulled into town last night, Sam had felt one shake the diner he'd stopped in. He'd started pulling up news on recent accidents and lists of local hospitals as soon as he'd settled down into his motel room.

He hasn't felt once since, but it could be that the angel has gone further inland to seek a vessel.

So Sam pitches his trash and straightens his tie. He's got some crap investigator's ID and he's gonna go shopping for some empty vessels. The plan is to find coma patients and then pray to any of the angels still hovering nearby to let them know an empty vessel is ready for the taking. That way maybe they can finally touch down and settle for a while. They don't need to be hovering out there, lost, but he'd rather they didn't occupy a human who might still be able to use their body.

Of course, the praying bit will come as he's leaving town. Just in case.

Though he ends up wondering if he ought to start praying _now_.

A short time into his perusal through the second hospital he'd chosen, he realizes he's picked up a tail. A man in uniform. A cop.

Now he's ducking around corners avoiding one cop and a team of SWAT personnel. All of them flashing black eyes and sniffing around for the scent of Winchester.

More of Abaddon's boys.

He ducks around corners, darts between rooms, and attempts to make it toward the back of the hospital. He gets as far as the service stairwell at the very corner of the building when the door on the top floor slams open and someone bellows his name.

"Crap," he runs down the stairs three at a time and almost gets down as far as the third floor when the bullets start flying down at him. A SWAT team of demons all armed to the teeth with common automatic weapons firing common bullets to great effect.

The door to the basement level slams open below him. He can hear screaming by now. People fleeing from inside the hospital at the armed incursion. Looking down to see if they're coming up at him from the lowest level is what sends him skidding off a step and one of the bullets zings right into his side at a downward angle. He falls the last half a flight down and lands at the foot of the stairs, his whole head, his whole body ringing in pain, reminding him that Zeke didn't get to fully heal him.

At the bottom of the steps, he curls in, trying to cover his bleeding side with his hands, trying to get at least one foot under him. Or maybe just a knee. Or maybe if he can _crawl_ toward the door to the parking garage he--

Rolls into a pair of booted feet. Legs of the jeans covered in dirt, smelling of earth.

And over him stands Lucifer.

He tries to scramble backwards, but the concrete below him is now slippery with his blood and all he can hear is the pounding of police-issued boots thundering down the stairs toward him.

Lucifer comes to one knee next to him and looks him all over, up and down. One of his hands extends to Sam's arm, curled protectively over his injury, and lands there warm, alive. From his other hand comes an angel blade. None like Sam has seen before. This one is shot through with gold at the edges. And Lucifer rises with it and ascends the stairs toward Sam's attackers.

Another bullet. This one grazes his jaw and his body falls back. Conks out against the hard floor.

«»

The next thing Sam sees is a pool of his blood coloring a parking stripe pink and then dark red below his hanging head. He's propped up against a car--

His own car? The one he'd driven into town?

He's growing colder sitting on the ground and bleeding out. His head is in agony and his body is remembering how sweet it is to give up. The boots come into his vision again.

There's not much strength left in his hands to do this, but he releases pressure on the wound at his side to dig his thumb into the center of his left palm.

Nothing distorts. The injury is long past healed. The kind of thing that only aches in the wintertime.

He digs harder, with his thumbnail. Nothing. And now Lucifer, the Devil himself, is crouching down next to him.

Lucifer's bloodied all over. His half-rolled sleeves, his arms, the knees of his jeans. There's no sign that any of the SWAT team of demons survived to follow them into the garage.

Sam won't look at his face. Sam won't look at his face and have it turn into Dean. Or become his own. Or stay what he knows it is, pecks of pink flesh, old wounds from an angel burning through the body, healing as if they were only a sunburn. Those old eyes.

He saw just a glimpse of it all before. He doesn't want to see again.

Lucifer's hands come under his arms and try to haul him up against the car. Sam sinks, forces himself to fall like water through those hands.

"Sam," said close to his face, and Lucifer tries again. He gets his arms around Sam and Sam tries to scrabble away. Tries weakly to push. There's not much left in him to fight with, but yes he fucking will.

He digs his nails into Lucifer's arms, tries to peel skin away or throw him off balance or kick, as he's hauled in. It makes no difference.

He does see Lucifer's face then, above him, as he's pulled across the seat and his legs are shoved in. He keeps pushing them out; he won't get locked in here. Lucifer only huffs and keeps forcing him back into the seat.

" _Sam_ ," he finally says again, getting impatient. "Do you hear those sirens?"

Sam flops his legs outside and sits and breathes for a second, tries to regain his strength as Lucifer just sits back and looks at him.

But he _can_ hear it now, over his own harsh breaths: Distant sirens, nearer and nearer.

"And how many of them do you imagine are still human?"

Sam looks at him. Sam takes in his face. Sam tries to show him defiance.

Lucifer _doesn't look **angry** , just **disappointed**_.

Sam stops fidgeting.

A whole SWAT team and at least one other cop, all of them possessed. The entirety of the city's force, called in.

Demons under law. He easily imagines black smoke filling up patrol cars, calling in for back-up over the radio. Small armies of enemies authorized to be carrying weapons. Standing behind badges and in front of local news vans. In their uniforms they could legally gun him down in front of everyone. Or even arrest him, bring him in, _interrogate_ him. All in plain view of the public. Abaddon knew what she was doing.

Lucifer watches him process this.

The blade comes out again. This time, it's handed to Sam, hilt-first.

"Let me drive you out of here. Let me get you away. Where is your brother, Sam? I'll get you to him."

"I can't," Sam feels himself slurring his words. "You can't. Too far." He fumbles in his coat pocket and the contents fall out onto the seat and the floor next to him. One object is the motel key card. There's a logo on the front.

Lucifer picks it up, shows it to Sam. "Here?" he asks.

Sam nods.

He didn't realize he hadn't taken the blade until Lucifer tucks it into his hands and pushes them down against his chest. He holds the blade to him as his fingers start to go numb.

Lucifer pushes his feet back in the car and shuts him inside. In a moment he's around the car and in the driver's seat.

It turns out the Devil can drive.

«»

He remembers watching the signs of banks and restaurants fly past above him. He doesn't remember the world growing this dark so suddenly. The red digits of the alarm clock are all that light the room. Next to the glowing numbers, edging him in the brightest red, Lucifer sits in one of the flimsy dining chairs from the kitchenette.

Sam's left arm is locked tight in the grip of both of Lucifer's arms. His arms are curled around Sam's one arm and his head lies next to Sam's shoulder.

Is he sleeping?

If he is, Sam can pull his arm free, slowly, carefully. Slide off the bed, test out his feet. Get away.

He curls his fingers into his left palm but squeezing it alone is insufficient to put pressure there, to make this vision go away.

It doesn't feel unreal, not his arms locked around Sam's, not where he breathes in and out next to Sam on the bed. He could not have escaped the hospital on his own but he _knows_ he was there, _knows_ what happened and how real it was.

But then, there were hallucinations that felt very real before.

He holds his breath, to listen, to try to pull his arm out and hear for a change in the man's awareness. But as soon as he starts pulling his arm free, Lucifer lifts his head.

His hands still Sam's movements. They grip his hand firm and then gentle to move up his arm and hold there.

He looks curious, a look that used to seem deadly.

Sam wants to turn away. He wants not to remember being so small, or Lucifer and Michael burning holy and hot, warring with each other for years in their cage, running over Sam and Adam with abandon. Drenching them in fire and flattening them in their rage.

There were things in his hallucinations that Lucifer himself was not. There were things in his hallucinations, here, on earth, that were mostly _him_ , Sam. Mostly him knowing what he was when he was a soulless stone, a greedy and disinterested thing. Sam knows, seeing Lucifer now, watching him make a study of Sam, the difference between what was in his head and the Lucifer he shared space with for over a hundred years. What he really suffered and what his mind thought he should suffer.

In the cage, they were out of control. The tiny space had to contain a battle that should have played out on earth and obliterated it. Lucifer's fight was not with Adam. Adam huddled alone and away. He fled from Michael who was the owner of his body.

But when Michael ran over Sam, when he came too near, Lucifer would start their war afresh. He would break into Michael deep and hold him accountable for what he'd done. Even without access to their blades they had cut and gouged into each other.

That wasn't to say that Lucifer had protected Sam. More like he didn't want his brother fucking with his stuff.

There's a little thread of anger there, now. Like someone's been touching his things. Like he _knows_. Like there's a trail of grace there that Ezekiel didn't take with him.

"What has happened to you? There's a glow. Deep. Deep in your bones. It's still in there. Your body is still trying to die. But I," he cocks his head and seems to listen. "I can't tell that it's some disease. What did this, Sam?"

Sam doesn't respond. He doesn't need to tell _Lucifer_ shit. Period.

He seems to know he's not going to be answered.

He moves on.

"You bled too much. I've been working on it, but healing doesn't work as it once did for me and this isn't the optimal vessel for doing so. I'm still repairing Nick. He'd been buried a long time. When I saw you come into town, I couldn't wait any longer. I had to occupy someone."

"A dead guy?" Sam finally rasps.

"He was the best there was. And well preserved by his family. He was buried here. I had him to go to, at least, if I couldn't find anyone else suitable. Consent wasn't an issue. By the time I climbed out of the ground I could smell how many more demons had entered the city."

Lucifer says 'demons' with the same mild revulsion as Dean does sometimes. Lucifer was the one, then. The angel who was hovering over the whole state looking for someplace--some _body_ to land in. He was an earthquake spreading west, across the Atlantic, toward the U.S. coast. And he took a human shape to come and save Sam from his attackers.

He remembers the cool metal of the blade under his fingers, but only vaguely. The blood loss had made him very numb by then. His eyes search for it now and it's on the nightstand, between the lamp and the clock.

Lucifer sees when his eyes find it. One of his hands releases Sam and he retrieves the blade. Reaches over and puts it in Sam's right hand again.

"If you want to use it, you will. No plotting on my part will stop that. But I wonder if we could speak first."

His fingers linger on Sam's but he pulls away, completely, sits back and takes his warmth with him.

 _Shit_.

Takes _the entire world_ with him.

When Lucifer pulls away, Sam can feel it, all of it. The tumble he took down the stairs. The messy stripe from the bullet that raked down his side. The throbbing pain in his jaw where he got winged by another. An intense headache building at his right temple. The cold of blood loss, the ache of his broken body remembering the trials.

It's not intense, all at once. It's a gathering of storm clouds; pressure, cold, stings and then the roll of pain.

Lucifer grabs for his hand again, quickly, crushes their palms together. Sam's old wound takes in heat from Lucifer. From the remembered itch of old stitches to the pressure of relief when the visions of that maniacal version of him would fizzle out and leave him in blessed peace.

"It's alright. Just keep hold. You don't have to feel that. I'm right here."

"What the hell?" Sam finally manages to gasp out in the wake of the sudden relief.

"Someone else was helping you with this?" he asks. "Another angel? Your-- was it-- Castiel?"

"No, he-- Ezekiel. It was-- he was working on it. But I didn't know. Dean made sure I didn't know but Ezekiel was in me for a while. Healing us both. I made him go away when I found out. I couldn't--"

Lucifer knows what he couldn't do.

He seems to gather his patience again, adjusts his grip against Sam's skin. Brings up his other hand to wrap over Sam's knuckles.

"How," he says, very slowly, "could that have happened without your consent."

"I guess I did. On a technicality. Dean says I said yes."

Lucifer is quiet, staring at their hands together. He's quiet for a long time.

"My brother. When we both resurfaced. Michael took back his vessel. He ran, far, fast. He would not stay with me. Near me. Every angel who has felt me has run like that. I haven't been up for long. But I. How." He seems to refocus. " _Dean Winchester_ ," he says like a curse.

Sam is kinda like, _god, I know, right?_

"It's-- he was just. It was predictable. He felt he had to do something. I mean. Of course he did. He just. Goes with it. He does his best. I'm not even pissed about it. Just, at this point. It's what happens." Sam shrugs. He'd forgotten the blade in that swelling wave of pain. It rolls next to him on the bed with his movement. He scoots a bit on the bed, hot under the sheet.

Lucifer raises a hand. "May I?" he quirks an eyebrow and waits a second before reaching over and taking the blade back. He sets it on the table again, well within reach.

Sam is so tired. So hot and exhausted and so damn _over_ all the pain.

He rolls to his side, facing Lucifer.

"I can do this from the outside," he says after a quiet while, indicating their tangled hands. "Not much at a time. I've still got enough grace; I can do a lot with it. If I share for a while, you'll feel better. I still don't understand what you've done to your insides."

"Long story," Sam says, quiet and plain, a little drowsy.

Lucifer nods. "Later. If you feel pain in your sleep, I only stepped away. I'll be back."

"You don't lie," Sam thinks he says as he falls asleep again.

«»

There were fragments and flashes, jagged and deep in his dreams, though nothing woke him. They can be remembered only vaguely.

A few things in the room have moved when he wakes up again, so he thinks he knows why.

"There is food," Lucifer says, indicating the vending machine snacks he slipped out to buy. "Though it seems to be of no actual nutritional value." He does not look impressed with this 'food.'

Sam sits up and eats M&Ms and little packets of snack crackers with peanut butter in them.

Lucifer leaves to get water and the pain rolls in, dull, unfocused, until he gets back.

When he wakes up again, from what little light creeps into the room, it seems the sun is setting. He fell asleep sitting up and is curled into Lucifer, so close all at once that he's feeling completely normal. Like there's certainly no reason he should be asleep, in a bed, with Satan.

He detaches their hands. It takes him shaking Lucifer off for a few seconds. "I have to get up," he says, needs to use the bathroom. Needs to not be cozied up to Lucifer for a while.

His legs aren't useless, thankfully. He doesn't stumble as he gets up. It just feels strange to be at this height again. He keeps himself steady against the walls anyway, just in case, and shuts Lucifer out as he curiously follows him to the bathroom door.

By the time he's splashing water on his face, he's feeling the separation again. A stabbing pain in his side from the bullet, though it looks like it's nearly healed already. His face is still kind of a mess, purpled and painful looking. The inspection can't last long. Hurt is creeping from the actual wounds and down into the meat and muscles of his body.

When he opens the door, Lucifer is ready to steady him. 

Sam pauses and lets the relief fill him again as Lucifer presses a warm, healing hand to his arm.

"How long is this gonna last?" he asks, a little breathy and a little too obvious about how much better this feels.

"That depends. How long did it take to do the damage?" he asks, pointedly, like he knows the answer from its signature in Sam's skin.

They're quiet while Sam stands there absorbing.

"Come." Lucifer traces his hand down Sam's arm and presses their palms together again. "I'm not going to let you hurt anymore. Let me work on it. Give it a few more days. I can fix this, Sam. Let me fix this."

Sam watches Lucifer climb onto the bed beside him. Sam is on his back, Lucifer at his side, pressing into him, warm all along him and holding their hands to his chest.

"Let me start here," Lucifer says. "I can do this. You're what I have left. I can make this work, Sam." His hands glow into Sam's hand, just slightly. Nothing like the sick light that burst through Sam's arms after each of the trials. Where Lucifer is pressed against him, he radiates, like lying out in the sun and just absorbing the healthy heat and light. After a while, it's not enough. He turns on his side to face him and Lucifer draws him in, curls close, pulls Sam's head to rest under his chin.

He keeps hold of Sam with one hand and pushes the other onto the back of Sam's neck. His thumb digs in to the muscle there and the healing radiance seems to blanket Sam.

«»

Ezekiel greets him.

Sam is in a cabin. It looks-- feels? Vaguely familiar. For some reason he gets the impression that he was content here and that's where Ezekiel first disrupted his life, but he doesn't fully remember it. Like if it actually took place, it's something Ezekiel had tried to wipe clean.

He has to remember that Zeke is on their side. He tries to be civil. He sits in one of the chairs and waits for Zeke to do the same.

"Your brother is worried. You were answering the phone, now it seems you're not?"

"God, yeah. I'm. I forgot about it. Will you tell him I'm sorry? I was on a hunt and-- I just got super exhausted. Tell him I'm alright."

Ezekiel nods. "I will do so. Thank you, Sam. You won't, by any chance, tell me where you are?"

"Zeke," Sam sighs. "Look, you helped me. I'm grateful, okay? But you know I don't want you in my head."

Ezekiel nods again, stands. "I'll leave at once. But, Sam. You must call out if you need us. Call to me, I will hear. Or call your brother. If you were so weakened after a hunt--"

"I can handle it," Sam says firmly. "I'll answer Dean when I wake up. I just need my rest, man. Some _human_ time, okay? Tell Dean not to worry."

Just like that he's all alone. The rest of his dream is him leaving the cabin. Exploring the woods. In the depths of the trees sometimes, he sees a scene from his life play out. He gets to observe it from a comfortable distance, no matter how uncomfortable the subject matter.

Once, he sees himself in the moment he broke under the hallucinations. When he turned to Lucifer and asked him for help, asked what the spell was for, why the hell Jeffery had been planning on summoning a demon. He knows now it was all in his head. Lucifer wasn't really there to help him. The answers had been in his head the whole time. The Lucifer he'd hallucinated had been a wild and overblown, almost cartoonish version of the actual Lucifer he'd met, shared a skull with. The real Lucifer is like this other memory. He comes across the scene deeper into the woods.

He is calm and carefully words everything. How Sam is special, how Lucifer is an angel and needs his consent to occupy him. Sam assures him it will never happen, but Lucifer is not deterred. He says he will never lie or harm Sam. That was the real Lucifer. He didn't suffer some psychotic break after being locked in his cage again. If anything, he had someone to take out the pressure on: Michael.

Sam knows the difference. He knows it when he's waking up and Lucifer still has his arms protectively around Sam, holding his hand, touching the skin of his neck with the tips of his fingers, gentle strokes.

His body has been an occupied thing. Ever since he let Lucifer in, after he's been taken over by one infection after another.

His emptiness took over.  
Then his burned and blackened soul.  
Then the madness.  
The trials had been a spell and they sank this awful pain into him.  
Then, Zeke.

He's tried, so, so hard. He's tried not to share. It didn't feel good, it didn't feel _right_ with Lucifer inside of him, pushing back his soul and silencing him and making him watch as he took out his rage on humanity, on Dean. It wasn't okay, though in some ways it was less dark. From Meg to the cracks in the wall in his head, only one thing that had ever invaded his body had brought light with it, honest light; clarity.

Lucifer warms him right now from the outside.

"Are you trying to take me back? Are you trying to wear me again, I mean?"

Sam's ear is pressed against Lucifer's throat, so every word is deep and resounding.

"This body can't reject me anymore. I'm no longer powerful enough to burn through it. I don't think any of us could be. We're half of what we once were."

Half of Lucifer's old strength might still be that of one regular seraph.

"You know me," Lucifer continues. "You are what I have left. If I tried to burn you out, what would I have, then?"

"You're on earth, now. You could find your own way to reversing what happened to the angels. You're still powerful."

"But not lucky," Lucifer says, and it's tinted with a little humor. "Or as wise in the ways of this world. I've been able to see some things. I've heard what happens here. But I have not lived on this earth like you have. I never had a clear view of it from the cage." He hesitates. "I know you can't put everything behind you. There is too much... sadness. Pain. In me. For me to let go, either. But you can guide me, if I allow you. And I can heal you, protect you, if you allow me. I give my consent to you, Sam. Lead me where you will. Use me. I can help."

Sam feels their ankles bump as he shifts on the bed.

He wonders what it would be, in real life. With everyone there to see him at Sam's shoulder. The both of them working things out together. Their hands guiding each others' lives.

He wouldn't be able to go back to Dean and Cas and Kevin. Not with Lucifer in tow. There would be no allowances made. Lucifer would offer Sam his blade every day. Dean would take it and use it.

This is more than just an untapped resource. It's Lucifer's crypts that the tablets were kept in. He used to have command over the Host with his brothers. God loved him and he watched all of this come to be. He knows everything about the demons, can easily dispatch them and clear a path for Sam and himself.

If Lucifer can put his rage away to fix his family, Sam has backbone and patience enough to work with him. Dean will have to survive on text messages for the time being.

"You can heal me from outside. You WON'T be occupying me as a vessel. I will not be-- I'm not letting anyone in. Not ever again."

"I can do that," Lucifer assures him. "It would be fastest to heal you from the inside, but you will not consent. That isn't in question. I can heal you from the outside. It will just take a while."

Sam swallows. "Then I consent. To accepting your help. To helping you and the angels. We put everything else aside and work this out."

A gust of air bursts into his hair where Lucifer breathes relief.

"We'll wait a day more. Two at most. When you can be further from me for longer. Rest. Heal until you're ready to move."

"And then?" Sam asks.

"We hunt. For answers. And for the one who leads this new demon hoard."

"Abaddon," Sam says. "She's called Abaddon."

"I will not tolerate such a reckless force from demons. It is artless, an undue declaration of war. Abaddon doesn't know what lion she's awoken in you. In your brother."

Finally. Someone with the proper amount of respect for the pure havoc which Winchesters are capable of. Lucifer had a front-row seat to it. Sam realizes that, of all the supposedly immortal beings, all the lethal bad-asses they've come up against, the Devil was the only one who truly took in the full scope of the Winchesters' destruction.

"Sleep now," Lucifer readjusts around Sam, draws them impossibly tighter, shares his light. "You can eat the next time you wake up, and then we should start to travel." His fingers skim up and pull Sam's hair away from his ear where he dips to whisper, "We've got work to do."

**Author's Note:**

> Written to/titled from [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgmBwjJvCfA).


End file.
